


i swear to god, i've never met a smile like yours.

by badmeetsevil



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hot Chocolate, Idiots in Love, M/M, Winter, oh my god! these bitches gay! good for them! good for them!, they laugh so much it's not even funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: “You didn’t have to,” Tom tells him, wanting Will to make sure that he knows that if he wasn’t feeling up to doing that, he didn’t have to do that again.Will looks at him with, despite his exterior, warm eyes, “I wanted to.”Blakefield Winter Wonderland 2020: Day 5, Hot Chocolate
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Walking In A Blakefield Wonderland





	i swear to god, i've never met a smile like yours.

**Author's Note:**

> tis a mild continuation of my touch starved will fic "i can't seem to find out where my footing is (so don't let me cave in)." because i love that fic and they deserve to be happy
> 
> title from smile like yours by anthony amorim!!! 
> 
> for maddie!!! my lovely girlfriend!!! :-D who i love to bits!!! :-D i love you bubs!!!

Tom stands by the big window in their living room, arms crossed over his torso, covered by one of those really ugly Christmas sweaters. It’s green and red and it’s bright in all the wrong places. It’s got holes forming in it from years of wear, but Tom claims that just adds character to the clothes. 

Will stands in front of the building, armed with a snow shovel, and looks up at the window. He smiles, and waves, and Tom waves back happily. Will goes back to his confident shoveling, and Tom can hear the gentle scraping of the shovel against the pavement through the window on the quiet streets. 

Will happily offered to shovel out the walkway of his and Tom’s building when the snow had first started. Tom’s not sure why he jumped on it so quickly. Will justified his quick actions with the fact that he didn’t want their neighbor, Mrs. Edison, a kind elderly woman who seemed to always smell of gingerbread whenever she gave hugs this time of year, to slip on the ice and hurt herself. 

Tom almost didn’t notice the glint in his eye when he explained himself, a little white lie, not entirely false but not entirely true.

Will jumped at the idea of shoveling the walkway to show Tom, just in the littlest way possible, that he was caring for him, and that he wanted him to be safe. It was almost like asking him to tell him when he got off the train if he was going somewhere far, or buying him a portable phone charger to keep on him when he went to work with his longer commute into the city, so he knew he was safe. 

Tom’s safety was, _is_ , Will’s number one priority. 

Will’s sprinkling rock salt off onto the pavement when Tom retreats back into the kitchen. He listens as the water in their sink drips one or two drops every few seconds, just keeping the water running enough so the pipes don’t freeze over. He breathes deeply, smelling the scent of a neighbor’s dinner, and smiles. 

It’s only a few minutes later that Will’s knocking on the door, and Tom’s there to happily let him bask in the warmth of their home. The taller man takes a deep breath as he enters their flat, and Tom reaches up to hug Will before he’s even gotten a chance to take his hat off. Will laughs when Tom jumps at how cold his jacket is. 

Instinctively, Tom’s hands climb up to cup Will’s cheeks, and after months of doing this, Will’s hands learn to come up and cover Tom’s. “You’re freezing, bubs!” Tom says, a bit of a laugh teasing through, and Will shakes his head, “Oh, but you are! You’re so cold, darling!” Tom pulls Will closer, and presses a kiss to his forehead, the warmth of his lips breaking through the cold of Will’s skin.

“It’s fine, Tom,” Will tells him, voice soft as ever, and he pulls back to slowly remove his layers of warm clothing. First his hat, then his gloves, then his jacket and his boots. He bends and quickly picks up his boots, which have a thin layer of snow on the bottom of them, no matter how much he scraped them on their welcome mat, that thin layer always remained. With one swift motion, he places his boots in the hall on their mat to dry completely. 

Tom shakes his head as he watches Will do this, “You’re freezing, bubs, it shocks me how cold you feel right now.” 

“I had to shovel, it’s no big deal,” Will tells him, going into their bedroom. He leaves the door open to continue their conversation, and searches their drawers for warm, comfy clothes. 

“You didn’t _have_ to,” Tom tells him, wanting Will to make sure that he knows that if he wasn’t feeling up to doing that, he didn’t have to do that again.

Will looks at him with, despite his exterior, warm eyes, “I _wanted_ to.” 

Will settles on his sweater that matches Tom’s, and a pair of gray sweatpants. He also takes a pair of warm socks, ones with candy canes printed on them. He changes quickly, as Tom crosses the kitchen to their pantry. “Let me make you a hot drink, yeah?” Tom asks, but he’s going to do it regardless.

Tom _hates_ the cold. Hates it. When they had their first real snowstorm a day or two ago, he was miserable. He was dreading having to go out in it or drive in it or watch as the pretty white snow turned into gross muddy slush. But, when Will happily sat in his chair and watched the snowfall, happily kissed Tom in it on the street when they stepped foot out when it first began coming down hard, happily choosing to shovel out the walkway of their building, Tom thought he could learn to love the cold. 

Will nods, “That sounds nice, darling, thank you.” 

“A hot chocolate?” Tom asks, raising his eyebrows, and Will smiles at him, warm and gentle and kind, and Tom takes it for a yes. 

He gathers the needed ingredients, some cocoa powder and sugar and salt, simple enough. He turns on the tap and takes about a third of a cup of water. He mixes the cocoa, sugar, and tiniest bit of salt in a saucepan, the stove on a low heat to allow it to simmer. 

Will’s taken the time to gather up a blanket in the living room and drape it over his shoulders, using it as a cloak to walk through the flat. When he’s in the kitchen, while Tom adds a few cups of milk to the saucepan and turns the heat on high, Tom sees him through his peripherals and smiles. “What’re you doing?” Tom asks. 

Will smiles, tightens the blanket around himself and says, “I’m cold, so I’m waiting for my drink.” 

Tom laughs, and throws his arms around his blanket covered boyfriend. “I told you that you were cold!” 

They stay there for a minute, just Will allowing himself to be held while Tom happily holds him. It’s taken a while to get to this point, to a point where Will accepted the physical affection that he deserved so much and that he so desperately needed. He understands Tom’s intentions, and he _trusts_ Tom. Tom’s touch is always one that can be trusted, and Will understands that. He doesn’t flinch when Tom holds him, or holds his breath when Tom goes to kiss him, or doubts himself of deserving it when he pets his hair. He holds him back, or kisses him back, or allows himself to be held.

Like now.

Will shows his love in an onslaught of ways. Tom’s coming to realize that one of these main things is through acts of service. Will happily makes dinner and does chores and gives massages on sore muscles and runs errands and surprises Tom with his favorite drink from his favorite coffee shop and fills the car up with fuel, he does all of these things with a smile and expects nothing in return. Except maybe a kiss. 

Will nuzzles his head into Tom’s soft, cherry blossom and almond scented hair and Tom snaps back into reality. 

He truly is like a big teddy bear, soft and comforting, but teddy bears aren’t typically this cold. “Your nose is still cold, softie!” Tom laughs, and takes Will chin in his fingers, “It’s still bright red!” He tips his head down and presses their noses together. 

Will laughs and blushes like it’s the first time Tom’s ever shown him affection, and soon Tom is tipping his head down to kiss him quickly on the nose, and Will giggles like crazy. His eyes scrunch up when he laughs like that, and Tom is so delighted that Will feels safe enough, free enough to show that level of joy. 

Will opens his arms, corners of the blanket balled up in his hands, and wraps his arms around Tom. “I don’t know what your plans are for the rest of the day, pumpkin,” Will starts, closing his arms around his shoulders and pinning him to his chest, “but I think mine are holding you on the couch and taking a nap.”

Tom smiles wide against Will’s sweater-clad chest, and he nods against him, hard enough that Will can feel it. Will laughs, cups the back of his boyfriend’s head, and presses his face into his chest. Tom laughs at Will’s touch, and breathes out a deep sigh of content. 

Those plans come to an end quickly. 

Tom’s the one to pull away first when he hears the sound of liquid hitting the lit stove, and turns around to spot the sight of sweet brown liquid flowing out of the pot at a slow but steady rate. “Oh shit!” Tom exclaims, breaking out of Will’s arm cage and seemingly dashing all but three steps to the stove.

He lowers the heat on the front burner, and turns to Will, who has a hand over his mouth, trying to hide a huge goofy smile. “Don’t laugh…” Tom says, trying to feign sternness but sounding like he’s about to burst into laughter himself. 

“I’m not gonna laugh!” Will replies, already laughing. 

“You were about to be drinking hot chocolate off of the hob,” Tom tells him with a smile, a big genuine smile. 

“If you’re the one who made it, then I certainly think it would be worth it,” Will tells him, tightening the blanket around his shoulders, body letting out one big shiver. And it’s cheesy, but Will’s words and his sweet demeanor and the genuine potency of his silly little statement has Tom’s heart swelling in his chest. He’s sure if Will put his hand on his chest, he’d be able to feel the way it’s grown. He’s no Grinch, but Tom is sure that his heart’s grown about three sizes larger in just a few seconds. 

Tom goes over to him, leaving the hot chocolate on the now off burner and throws his arms around his neck. He pulls him down into a sweet kiss, one that makes both of them smile and laugh, and it’s less of a kiss and more of them inhaling each other’s presence. Blessed that the other is there, blessed that they’re together. 

Tom pulls his lips from Will’s and Will instinctively leans down to kiss him again, and he catches him. He cups his jaw and kisses him, thumb running over the bone, and Tom giggling until he bright red in the cheeks. He playfully shoves Will on the chest until he pulls away and tells him, “Go sit on the couch, bubs, I’ll bring you your drink.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Will says, cupping his boyfriend’s cheek again, “I don’t think I want to. I think I wanna stand in my warm kitchen and kiss my warm boyfriend until I get warm.”

“If you don’t go sit down, I’m going to enjoy this hot chocolate myself,” Tom teases, raising his eyebrows.

Will gasps, one that is dramatic and playful and makes Tom laugh immediately. Will always knew how to make Tom laugh. Will smiles, drops his blanket so it rests off his shoulders and gathers at his feet. “I will be awaiting my beverage in the living room, sweet prince,” Will tells him. 

Tom nearly bursts into laughter, and waves his giggling boyfriend off into the living room. 

He laddels the sweet drink into Will’s favorite mug, a sleek black mug with some white detailing, mostly flower shapes, and watches the steam dance out of the cup. He smiles, and puts just the slightest bit of whipped cream on the top of it, watching it begin to melt almost immediately after it touches the hot drink. 

Tom takes the handle and cups the other side of the mug with his palm, feeling the heat through the ceramic, and bringing it quickly into the living room, a pep in his step as he worries he may spill the drink or drop the mug due to its scalding temperature. 

“Your hot drink has arrived, my good sir!” Tom exclaims in a goofy voice, almost sounding like a jester in a medieval setting, as he passes the mug off to Will. Will takes it with steady hands, their fingers brushing each other’s, and smiling when he feels the heat on his cold hands. 

“Oh, this is perfect,” Will tells him, and Tom settles onto the couch next to him. Will opens his arm, opens his little blanket cape, and invites Tom in. “C’mere, you!” Will says, throwing an arm around Tom’s shoulder and pulling him close to him. The drink shakes in the mug, threatening to spill over but it doesn’t, it remains where it’s meant to be. 

Tom snuggles against Will’s chest, under his arm, and smiles, warm, warm like their home, warm like Will’s drink. Will laughs and tightens his grip on Tom’s upper arm, hands finally reaching their normal temperature, no longer bitten by the harsh outdoor weather. 

Tom’s learning to love the winter, and it’s all thanks to Will. 

Will takes a sip from a drink, sucks in some air at the hot temperature, and Tom laughs at the sudden noise. Will looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and Tom furrows his own. 

Will puts the mug on the coffee table, takes Tom’s warm cheeks, and presses the back of his hand to the warm skin. The back of his hand is still _freezing_. Tom squeals and tries to jump away from the sensation, but Will just laughs, and changes their positions so they’re both wrapped in the blanket, with Tom lying comfortably on top of him.

Okay, maybe Tom _isn’t_ learning to love the winter. Especially not the cold. But, he does love Will, and that’s all he needs.


End file.
